


Splormf

by inber



Series: The Eskel and Geralt Figuring It Out Chronicles [5]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Come Shot, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Predicament Bondage, Spider mention but no alive spiders, Spiderwebs, Web Sex, or are they??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28045605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber
Summary: 'It was only years of practice and mastery that stopped him from crying out as he fell, bracing himself for an impact on the cave's floor, unsure as to how steep the drop was. The contact never came. Puzzled, Eskel opened his eyes to find himself cradled in an old stretch of webbing, his entire body suspended by it.“Ah, fuck.” Eskel uttered, jerking his body. His bonds remained strong.'And along comes a Geralt...
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: The Eskel and Geralt Figuring It Out Chronicles [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791841
Comments: 19
Kudos: 156





	Splormf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pressedinthepages](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressedinthepages/gifts).



> You can ask about the title but I am not gonna tell you. ;)
> 
> This is part of the 'Eskel and Geralt working it out' series. Geralt learns to ask for what he wants, and how it feels to be in Eskel's position. They *gasp* actually talk a bit! But mostly it's just smut. @Pressedinthepages gave me a prompt for Geralt being a brave boye and taking the lead and this is what came out. Thanks boo!

Eskel would have said, if asked, that witchers shared the peculiarities of a cat's eyesight, but that was where the similarities ended. The fluffy creatures couldn't even be persuaded to approach a witcher, sensing the otherness about them, and Eskel didn't really give them much thought. Impeccable self-preservation. Perhaps that was another common trait.

Funny how he shook his empty potion bottle, the one that would have let him see with more detail in the cave, and mused over the name of the concoction. Cat. He had no business in the small mountain-side hideout, but curiosity had drawn him in. The ironies piled up without his knowledge.

His exploration was not fruitless. Using the faint echo of light from outside, Eskel leapt gracefully down a ledge, narrowly avoiding the unfortunate skeleton of a long-deceased traveller. The person would have no use for the pouch of florins still dangling from their belt, and so Eskel pocketed them. Breathing through his mouth, he focused his senses on the vast space around them, for the faintest sign of danger.

A note of sharp toxicity, dulled; the mustiness of a creature's lair. Eskel could hear nothing. His fingers twitched, ready to wrap around the hilt of his silver sword. As he paced on soundless feet further into the cave, he noted the flyaway threads of web that strung between the pock-marked walls. Upon closer inspection, he saw the density and stickiness of the garlands. Arachnomorph, then; judging by the thickness of her web, a rather hefty one.

Strange that the village he'd come from held no contract. Stranger still that he could not hear the skittering of limbs; they were not silent things, giant spiders. As Eskel cautiously made his way forward, his suspicions were quickly confirmed.

The corpse of the mammoth beast lay curled in on itself, desiccated from the warmer season just passed and by the passage of time. She'd lived a good life, far as Eskel could tell; her exoskeleton was void of battle-scars and the fur on her thorax was dense. Age had come for her, or sickness. The months she had laid there undisturbed suggested to Eskel that she had no mate, nor a clutch of eggs he needed to worry about. He performed a cursory search, hoping to salvage some alchemy parts, but there was nothing left of use.

Ah, well. He was up on coin, and with the sky pitching darker, he had a safe and sheltered place to sleep. Eskel turned away from the spider, and with the lacking daylight, completely missed a small shelf beneath him.

It was only years of practice and mastery that stopped him from crying out as he fell, bracing himself for an impact on the cave's floor, unsure as to how steep the drop was. The contact never came. Puzzled, Eskel opened his eyes to find himself cradled in an old stretch of webbing, his entire body suspended by it.

“Ah, fuck.” Eskel uttered, jerking his body. His bonds remained strong. Maybe the spider was dead, but she'd bequeathed some expert traps upon the world before she left.

A burst of igni would do the job, but it would also turn the webbing into molten glue that would eat through Eskel's armour and sear lines into his skin. He was not vain by any stretch, but Eskel was definitely in the practice of avoiding new scars where he could.

There was nothing for it but to use his strength and gradually struggle his way out of the predicament.

* * *

An hour later, Eskel had freed most of his right arm, but every time he reached for a blade, his skin became stuck anew. He was tired and irritable, and the prospect of melting himself for freedom was becoming more and more appealing.

It seemed cruel that he'd be subjected to the sound of footsteps, now. Outside it had begun to rain, and Eskel suspected that a wayward soul had ducked into the alcove to seek shelter. He doubted they'd venture further in, as he had; still, he stopped his wriggling and waited, hand ready to sign if necessary.

“Eskel?” A very familiar voice called out. “Are you in here?”

“Geralt?” Eskel called back, huffing out a short laugh. “You've an uncanny sense of timing, Wolf.”

“Do I?” The voice came closer. Eskel heard Geralt jump down the ledge and make the same discoveries he'd made. “Where are you?”

“Don't fucking laugh. I tripped.”

Geralt came into view, a quizzical expression on his handsome brow, dew-dotted by the rain. Then he grinned, all canines, and Eskel rolled his eyes.

“In a bit of a spot, Eskel?”

“Shut up. Cut me out, would you?”

“Could do, could do,” Geralt agreed, squatting down so that he was eye-level with the other witcher, “but where's the fun in that?”

“And exactly what sort of _fun_ were you seeking with an immobile, sticky witcher, Wolf?” Eskel asked. Without his permission, his tone lowered to something primal and challenging. The deluge outside poured, and a crack of thunder only sparked the sudden tension between them brighter.

“When you put it that way,” Geralt growled, “I can think of many activities.”

Eskel licked his dry lips. Fuck, when had he last seen his white wolf? At the start of spring, in the foothills that lead to Kaer Morhen; they parted that year as they always did, with a quiet and fierce hug. _Come back to me,_ their silent plea; _I will see you again in winter._

“You gonna let me out, or are you just gonna stare?” Eskel jutted his chin up. “All talk when you get like this, Geralt. You know you prefer being under me.”

“Do I?” Geralt's rhetorical question was followed by the unsheathing of a small knife.

“Mmm. Remember last winter? Stayed in my room for three days, biting down on the bedsheets, begging for it. Fuck, you were so good for me.”

Geralt's pulse picked up. The scent of lust was close in the musty cave, spiked with the ozone of the storm. “Can you... be good for me?”

Eskel quirked a thick eyebrow. This was new territory, in a new place; it was unlike Geralt to explore so readily. But the fact that he wanted to, that he might want to...

“I think I can.” Eskel said.

Humming, visibly nervous, Geralt reached forward to undo the ties on Eskel's codpiece, pulling each red leather strip apart. Eskel watched hawkishly, breathing shallowly. Beneath his wool-knitted pants, his prick was fattening. Geralt palmed it unabashedly, and Eskel moaned, trying to arch into the friction.

“Look at you.” Geralt whispered. “Trussed up like this. Anyone could have found you. Taken their advantage. Would you have returned to Kaer Morhen in a few months smelling like someone else's bitch, hmm?”

Eskel's throat went dry. Between Geralt's verbosity and his talented hand, coherent thought began to evade him. He panted, trying to shake his head.

“Wouldn't. Only yours, Wolf.”

“Yeah?”

“Only you can— _fuck!_ Only you get to do this. Geralt, fuck, you're gonna make me come in my fuckin' braies--”

Immediately, the hand was withdrawn. Eskel took a deep breath, unsure if he was grateful or not. Then he felt Geralt's fingers freeing his cock, pulling it out from the wool and linen confines.

“Thank you for the warning. I would rather get to see you come all over yourself.”

Eskel ground out a cry as Geralt's stroking resumed, skin-on-skin now, unrelenting. He knew exactly how hard to touch, how fast to jerk Eskel's reddened prick. There was no chance Eskel could stave off his orgasm, and his entire body curled in his sticky bonds as thick jets of come splashed up his chest, staining his shirt. Geralt worked him until Eskel was trembling with sensitivity. Then he sat back on his heels and grinned.

“Oh, fuck.” Eskel moaned, prickling hot in the aftermath.

“Liked that.” Geralt said, tilting his head. “Liked watching you helpless and desperate. I see the appeal.”

“Don't get too used to it.” Eskel smiled, lax in the web.

“Hmm.” Geralt grunted, partly in agreement, partly seeking to push his luck. “You know, I could cut your legs free and fuck you like this.”

Eskel's ruddy prick twitched. Geralt looked from it, to Eskel's face. They traded the smallest of nods, communication in the barest tic of features. How well they knew one another. With care, Geralt began to slice the web away, balling it up and out of his concern. The upper portion of the trap strained to hold Eskel's bulk, but it held.

With rough tugs, Geralt undid Eskel's belt and pulled his trousers down around his ankles. Eskel's huge thighs spread just far enough to allow Geralt to step in the gap between them. Their eyes met, two pairs of thin golden rings, pupils like endless wells. Geralt rifled through a pouch on his hip and produced a vial.

“Jasmine oil. Kind of stinks, but Jaskier--”

“Don't care,” Eskel gasped, “use it.”

Geralt nodded stupidly, uncorking it, the scent of the flower uncurling from the glass. He dribbled a decent amount over his fingers. Then he slipped one up the crack of Eskel's bottom, finding the furl of his hole. Slowly, he teased; the swirl of fingertip, the gentle massage of Eskel's rim. Gradually Eskel melted into it, his prick swelling again. Were he with anyone else, he'd be embarrassed by his whimpering.

“That's it,” Geralt soothed, “relax for me. Just like that.”

The first breach felt strange, a mixture of foreign fullness and a kind of pleasure that Eskel rarely received. With adoration, he gazed up at Geralt, breathing through the gentle preparation. As Geralt stroked a second finger into him, Eskel realised exactly how and why his Wolf was so good at this. He was following Eskel's example. The things he said, the caution he took; this was how Eskel treated Geralt, too.

His suspicions were confirmed when Geralt curled those two slick, searching fingers, pressing and rubbing. The moment they smoothed over his prostate, Eskel yelped, jerking forward, his prick dripping precome in a sticky puddle on his belly. Geralt grinned triumphantly.

“Feel good?”

“Yes, fuck.”

“More?” Geralt probed a third finger. “You wanna come on my hand, just like this?”

“No,” Eskel keened, “no, no, no. Fuck me now.”

“Yeah?”

“Please. Geralt, just fuck me. Fuck me, I'm ready for you. Want you.”

Geralt pulled his fingers out, leaving Eskel sighing and empty. He stared up as Geralt's belt was undone, his cock lazily pulled out; how many times had Eskel fucked Geralt like that? Almost fully clothed, whilst his beloved Wolf had been stripped naked and howling? He hoped Geralt felt the same rush as he did in that moment. As the blunt head of Geralt's dick rocked against Eskel's ass, he clenched his hands into fists, breathing deeper.

They both moaned as Geralt sheathed himself, inch by inch. Geralt gripped Eskel's thighs, hunched over slightly, furrowed brow and bitten lips. Eskel tried to squirm, wanting more, but Geralt hushed him.

“You're so tight, Eskel, fuck. Don't wanna... I wanna make this good. Settle.”

“Already good,” Eskel panted, “Geralt, please.”

With a growl, Geralt rolled his hips sharply, pushing his prick in as deep as possible. Their balls clapped together lewdly, oil-slick. And then Geralt began to move.

Their rhythm was awkward only for a few beats. After that, Geralt abandoned his care, no longer gentling the man beneath him; he dug his fingers into Eskel's thighs and fucked him with quick, frantic strokes. He angled himself, remembering that spot, remembering Eskel's reaction; Eskel yelled as Geralt's dick rubbed his prostate with every thrust, sending his nerves fizzing and his own prick throbbing.

There was no time for dirty-talk, no time for teasing. Now that he had Eskel beneath him, Geralt's grasp on control had dissolved. In the dark of the cave, Geralt's teeth gleamed as he growled, his rutting becoming less rhythmic. With desperation, he wrapped an oily hand around Eskel's leaking cock and began to strip it.

Eskel was vaguely aware of Geralt cursing and holding him still, of the heat flooding his arse, but then he was coming again with a prick pulsing against the nerves inside of him and fuck, he might have screamed.

* * *

They sat together, a small fire burning in the cave. The rain had not let up. Eskel was picking the last of the webbing off his armour. Geralt was tending to a pot of stew, their shared supplies allowing for something hearty.

“I get it, now.” Geralt said.

“Get what?” Eskel wiped his hand on the cave floor.

“Why you... sometimes run away, after. It's like an insanity takes you. I couldn't think of anything else but the feel of you beneath me. I wanted... I wanted to consume you. Make you mine. It made me stupid. I think I bruised your legs, I think...” Geralt trailed off. “Is that wrong?”

Eskel lowered his eyes. “I—I don't know. Doesn't feel wrong. I mean, it didn't, when you did it. Felt... really good.”

“Feels really good when you do it to me, too.”

“Jaskier said—last I saw him—he said something about 'sub drop'. Said he'd teach me about aftercare, if I wanted. I thought it sounded weak and stupid, but now...” Eskel let his fingers squirm closer to Geralt's. “Now I wanna take care of you proper.”

Geralt smirked. “Trust Jaskier to know about this shit. I thought it was just, y'know, fucking. But nothing in this life is ever straightforward, is it?”

“Seems not.”

Geralt leaned against Eskel's side, tucking his head into the space on Eskel's broad shoulder. “I wanna learn how to take care of you, too. Neither of us are gonna run away. Deal?”

Eskel smiled, nosing into the silver of Geralt's hair. “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on tumblr @inber if you are there, too.


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